“But it doesn’t do any one a bit of harm, Master Luke, sir. You won’t speak to the coastguard?”
“Indeed, but I will,” cried Uncle Luke, “and have you punished. If you had been honest your daughter wouldn’t have been charged with stealing down at my brother’s.”
“And a false charge too,” cried the woman, ruffling up angrily. Then changing her manner, “Now, Master Luke, you wouldn’t be so hard. Don’t say a word to the coastguard.”
“Not speak to them? Why, time after time I’ve seen you going off after some game.”
“And more shame for you to watch. I didn’t spy on you when you were down the town of a night, and I used to run against you in the dark lanes by the harbour.”
Uncle Luke started up with his stick in his hand, and a curious grey look in his face.
“Saw—saw me!” he cried fiercely. “Why, you—but there, I will not get out of temper with such a woman. Do you hear? Go, and never come here again.”
“Very well, Master Luke, sir, I’m going now,” said the woman, as she adjusted the strap across her forehead; “but you won’t be so hard as to speak to the coastguard. Don’t sir, please.”
The woman spoke in a low, appealing way, and after trying in vain to catch Luke Vine’s eye, she went slowly up the hill.
“Bad lot—a bad family,” muttered Uncle Luke uneasily, as he glanced sharply up at Leslie from time to time. “Good thing to rid the place of the hag. Begging at my brother’s place for food and things every time I’ve been there. Yes. Good morning, Leslie, good morning.”